


To the Victor

by zizes



Series: And It's Surely To His Credit [1]
Category: Glee, The West Wing
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zizes/pseuds/zizes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt, Blaine, and the rest of the New Directions celebrate Burt's election to Congress. So does the Santos administration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Victor

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Glee 3x07 (I Kissed a Girl), originally posted during Season 3.

They rent out the ballroom of the Lima Marriott for election night. Carole scrambles to secure it a week beforehand, when it first occurs to them that they might actually need a venue for a victory party.

In the end, it’s not even close. The polls close at 7:30, and by 7:40 the networks are calling the election for Burt — only 8% of precincts are reporting, but they’ve got exit polls, and they’re eager to make the call and move on to commentary. It’s a great story. A small-town mechanic, not just an independent but a write-in candidate, running for a seat that’s been solidly GOP since 1938. The Ohio Democratic Party couldn’t even get its act together to field a candidate for the open seat, and here comes Burt Hummel, salt of the earth, wearing a worn baseball cap and talking about federal support for public schools, and he takes the election by ten percentage points.

Mr. Schue gets the call a few minutes earlier, in the suite that’s serving as election night campaign headquarters, and the room explodes. Everyone is hugging and jumping and screaming. Blaine’s there, and Mercedes and Tina and Rachel and their parents. They’ve been volunteering for Burt since he entered the race — canvassing door to door and at the supermarket, planting lawn signs, raising money. They did it for Burt, because he’s a friend, and to take a stand against Sue. None of them thought for a minute that they could actually win.

Burt kisses Carole first, then grabs Kurt and pulls him into a crushing hug. Kurt holds on tight and feels the heft of his father in his arms, smiling so wide his face hurts, crying and babbling into Burt’s ear; Burt’s crying, too, a bit. For a moment he’s not thinking about NYADA and his future. He’s just so proud of his dad. He’s so proud of him.

Blaine hangs back until Burt goes over to thank the Joneses and Berrys and Cohen-Changs, then launches himself into Kurt’s arms. “Your dad,” he says, his voice rough, “is my hero.”

“Mine too,” is what Kurt wants to say, but what comes out is, “I love you.”

“Kurt!” Mercedes squeals, and he and Blaine separate as Mercedes and Tina descend on them. Finn is swinging Rachel around in a circle, and when she squeals at him to put her down, the two of them stagger over.

“Dude,” Finn says. “This is awesome.”

“I can’t believe it,” Rachel says. “I can’t believe he beat Coach Sylvester. Not that I don’t believe in your dad, Kurt, of course I do. It’s just that New Directions has personally observed the depths to which she’ll sink in order to win, and —”

“And your dad won anyway!” Mercedes says.

“And he deserved to,” Tina adds. “Everyone loves your dad, Kurt. He was positive and real, and once we convinced people he didn’t have a baboon heart, of course they loved him.”

“You guys are amazing,” Kurt says. He extricates his arm to wipe away tears. “Thank you so much.”

Mr. Schue appears over Mercedes’ shoulder. “Group hug!” Will says, and puts his arms around Tina and Mercedes, and it’s a little awkward but they’re all too happy to care. “We did it!” he exclaims, and reaches over to touch Kurt’s head; Kurt ducks out of his reach.

After hugs and congratulations all around, Mr. Schue goes downstairs to check on the victory celebration. The girls follow, with their parents and Blaine. And then it’s just the four of them in the hotel room, looking somewhat dazed at each other and letting it sink in.

Reggie “The Sauce” Salazar calls immediately to concede. It’s not a long conversation. Burt thanks him gruffly, then hangs up and mutters something Kurt can’t hear; Carole shushes him.

“So I guess I’d better start writing that speech, huh?” he says.

“Dad! You haven’t written one yet?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t want to jinx it.”

“Go, go,” Carole says, shooing him into the bedroom. “Give Kurt the phone.”

He hands Kurt the campaign cell phone, a cheap prepaid thing they bought after Sue’s ad came out and angry voters started tying up the line at the garage. Sue hasn’t called yet, and they decide to give her a little while to concede before going downstairs, even though no one actually expects Sue Sylvester to accept defeat graciously.

Finn flips to CNN, and now Wolf Blitzer is talking about Burt’s victory. Some talking heads wonder if it’s a sign of support for President Santos’ jobs bill, disapproval of the obstructionist Republicans in Congress (Burt’s an independent, but he’s forthright in answering questions and everyone knows he’s Dem-leaning), or just a fluke in an off-year election with 17% turnout, a reasonable guy running against crazypants opponents in a quirky district.

“Hummel also benefited from a last-minute attack ad against Sue Sylvester by the third candidate in the race,” Candy Crowley says. She cues the big screen behind her to play Salazar’s commercial, and Finn immediately changes the channel. They’ve been showing Salazar’s ad on the news since it first aired—first for the shock value, then even more once it became clear that the attack had backfired, sending both Sue’s and Salazar’s poll numbers plummeting and clearing the way for Burt.

The networks blur out Santana’s face whenever they show the ad, like it’s a crime scene photo. It’s awful.

“Why do they have to keep showing it?” Finn asks the TV, now tuned to professional poker.

“Enough TV, honey.” Carole pulls Finn up off the couch. “We won. Dance with me.”

Kurt perches on the arm of the couch and watches them lurch awkwardly, giddily, across the room.

The campaign phone buzzes in his hand. The screen says “Private Number.”

Kurt grimaces at it and answers, bracing for the gale force of Sue’s wrath. “Hello, Hummel campaign.”

“Hello and congratulations,” says an unfamiliar voice — young, male, with crisp consonants. “This is the White House calling; I have President Santos on the line to congratulate the congressman-elect.”

Kurt’s breath catches in his throat. He hears the cheap plastic of the phone creak in his hand. It can’t be real.

“Hello?” the voice says. “Are you still there?”

“I —” he chokes.

Carole and Finn have stopped dancing. “Is that Sue?” Carole whispers. “Let me talk to her.”

Kurt just shakes his head, but he smiles at Carole as he pulls away.

“Sorry. Yes, he’s right here. Just a moment, please,” he says, hoping the White House doesn’t notice that his voice just leapt up an octave. He clamps his hand over the microphone and hurries on wobbly legs to the bedroom, where Burt is hunched over the small desk, scribbling on hotel stationery.

“Dad,” he squeaks.

Burt gets a look at his face and pushes back his chair. “What happened?” He stands up and holds out his hand for the phone.  “What did she say? Give me the phone. What did she say?”

Kurt holds the phone closer to him. “No, it’s not — Dad, the President wants to talk to you.”

Burt’s eyes widen. “The president of what?”

Kurt lets out a hiccup-laugh. “Dad. President Santos. He wants to congratulate you.” He holds out the phone. “It’s someone at the White House — they’ll put him on to talk to you.”

“Wow.” Burt rubs his hand over his head, grinning in disbelief. “Wow. OK.” He takes the phone from Kurt — both of them handling it delicately, like President Santos himself is somehow contained in the molded plastic — and squeezes Kurt’s shoulder as he answers. “This is Burt Hummel,” he says into the phone. “Thanks very much. Sure, I’ll hold.”

Kurt slips out the door and draws it closed behind himself just as he hears his dad say, “Thank you, sir, uh, Mr. President. It’s a real honor.”

Carole and Finn are waiting with worried faces. “… Kurt?”

“That was the White House,” he says to Carole.

She gasps. “Oh my god.”

“Wait,” Finn says. “Really?”

“That’s the president,” he adds, waving back toward the bedroom. “Dad’s on the phone right now. With the president.” His voice cracks, and he’s not sure if he’s about to laugh or cry, or possibly both.

“Oh my god,” Carole says again, then giggles. “Oh, Kurt, your face.”

He lets them guide him to the armchair and sit him down; his giddiness is contagious, and they’re all laughing.

“That’s the president,” Kurt says again, and waits for it to feel real.

**

At 5 to 8, Mr. Schue calls from the ballroom: CNN and MSNBC want to take a live feed and won’t wait any longer, so they’re go for victory speech. Kurt does a final check of his hair in the hotel bathroom and hurries to catch up as they head downstairs.

He had worried that the ballroom would be too big, but the floor is packed. Mellencamp is playing over the sound system, and people are mingling and watching the big TV at the front of the room. He sees some of the guys from the garage, and their next-door neighbors from their old house, but most of them are people he’s never seen before in his life, all here to support his dad.  
“Fair-weather fans,” Burt mutters, but he’s smiling. “Once you start winning, that’s when they show up.”

Mr. Schue clears a path for them to the makeshift stage, where there’s a standing mic and a big Hummel for Congress banner hanging at the back. He bounds up onto the platform and grabs the mic. “Hello, Lima!” he calls out.

The crowd takes a moment to figure out what’s going on, and then goes nuts.

“How’s everybody doing tonight?”

They cheer back.

“I said, how’s everybody doing tonight?”

Another cheer, bigger, with a particularly loud shout coming from the back of the room. Kurt stands on his tiptoes to look over the crowd and sees New Directions (minus Santana, for obvious reasons, and Mike, who told Kurt sadly that his parents “weren’t into politics” and didn’t want him coming, but with the addition of Lauren Zizes, who spent the entire campaign begging Kurt to put her in charge of “oppo research” and who swears to Kurt that she wasn’t the one who removed all the Salazar lawn signs from Route 117 over the weekend).

Mr. Schue is thanking everyone for coming out, and for their votes, and thanking Burt (the crowd cheers again at the sound of his name) for having the courage to get into the race when “some of us” realized there was no one in the race standing up for the arts.

Next to Kurt, Burt folds and unfolds a sheet of hotel stationery.

“You’re gonna be amazing, Dad,” Kurt whispers.

Burt smiles at him and tucks the speech into his back pocket, and Will is looking at them from the stage and it’s time.

“So let me introduce to you, the next congressman from the great state of Ohio, Burt Hummel!”

They file up on stage — Burt, then Carole and Finn and Kurt — and the lights are blinding (for TV, he’s on TV right now) and the crowd is cheering, and this is so different from performing with New Directions. He’s surprised by a sudden pang of self-consciousness as he finds a spot to stand, he and Finn on either side of Carole. Of course he and Blaine put extra work into choosing his outfit for today. Classy. Conveying leadership. Nothing too fancy. Nothing … distracting.

(“It’s not hiding who you are,” Blaine had said, from his perch on the only part of Kurt’s bed not covered with clothes. “You wear menswear. Beautifully, I might add.”

“Oh, it’s all in the tailoring,” Kurt said. “And I know. It’s just, after everything that’s happened —”

“To you, or to Santana?”

Kurt sighed. “Both, I guess. It just feels like I’m being a coward if I don’t … embrace the gay.”

“Kurt.” Blaine laughed. “Kurt, don’t you remember your prom?”

“Of course.”

“You wore a kilt.”

“I remember.”

And you stood up in front of all of those awful people, and you were … fabulous.”

“So —”

“So. You have earned the right to wear whatever the hell you want. And just because of Santana and that stupid ad, it doesn’t mean you need to take that all on yourself by wearing something you’re not comfortable in. And you are not, Kurt, you could never, _ever_ be a coward.”

Kurt sighed and moved a pile of shirts aside to join Blaine on the bed. “What did I do to deserve you?” he murmured, and Blaine leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. “I don’t want to be a distraction for my dad,” he said, straightening his vest. “I don’t care how the kids at school see me. As far as they’re concerned, I might as well wear dresses to school every day. But if we — God, if we win on Tuesday, there’ll be TV cameras there, and politicians, and I don’t care what they say about me but I don’t want them to make life difficult for my dad.”

Blaine leaned back on his hands and regarded Kurt thoughtfully. “Maybe if you changed the shirt,” he said. “Switch the plain white for something a little more …”

“Distinctive?”

“Distinctive.”)

Under the hot TV lights, Kurt can barely recognize the faces in the crowd. He smiles and applauds as his dad starts to speak, thanking everyone for their support, thanking Mr. Schue.

“I got into this race, like Will said, because of the arts. The arts are important to this community. They’re real important to my two sons.”

He glances back at them, and Kurt feels the room’s eyes on him. He smiles.

“So I especially want to thank them, Kurt and Finn, and my beautiful wife Carole. They inspired me to give this a shot, and they figured out all the paperwork and organized their friends to volunteer --"

There's a "woooo!" from the back of the room, and the crowd chuckles.

"And they keep inspiring me every single day. Thank you," he says, looking over his shoulder. Kurt meets his dad's eyes for a moment, and his dad gives him a proud little smile, and he will not, he will not cry on TV.

“I’m a pretty simple guy, you know?” Burt says. “I never figured I was the type to get involved in politics, and I sure never thought I’d be standing here tonight. But I know Lima pretty well, and during the campaign, I got to know more of you, in Marion and Findlay and Bellefontaine. And I took a look at the candidates in the race, and I thought: We deserve better."

"That's right," someone calls out.

"People in this community deserve to be treated with respect. We deserve politicians who care about helping us, not about bringing each other down, and who listen to us and care about what we have to say, no matter how much money we make. We deserve the chance to work hard and earn a decent living. Our kids deserve to go to schools where they can be safe, and be supported, and learn the things they need to go out and succeed in the world, whether that's biology or shop or singing showtunes.

“This was my first campaign, and it was ugly, folks. I’m not gonna lie to you, tonight I was gonna be happy the thing was over no matter who won. But I’m grateful to you all for standing up and saying, that kind of negativity? Attacking our kids so we can benefit politically? That’s not what this community is about. We don’t have to tear each other down. We can support each other, and help each other, and we can have friends and family and – kids who are different, and we can reach out and love each other right across those differences.”

Kurt clasps his hands more tightly behind his back, and he will. not. cry.

“We don’t always live up to that potential. I’ve seen the ugly side of this place, too, and so have all of you. But I know we’re capable of so much better. So I’m proud and humble to be your representative. I’m gonna go to Washington – I haven’t been to Washington since my parents took me when I was in high school, but I’m gonna go there and fight for all of you. And in return I want you all to work on making our community better and stronger and more welcoming of everyone within it.

“Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for your support, and thank you for putting your trust in me. Now, uh, let’s get to work!”

Burt waves to the crowd and steps back, and the music and the noise of the crowd swell together as he goes to give Carole a chaste kiss. There’s a familiar guitar riff, and then —

They can hear Rachel’s shriek across the crowded ballroom, and Kurt gasps and looks at Finn at the same time Finn looks at him, mouth agape. It’s "Don't Stop Believin'," but it's _them_ singing — it’s their recording from Regionals.

“We sound good,” Finn says, beaming as they head offstage. Mr. Schue is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and damn it, he really can do some things right, and this time Kurt doesn’t protest when he goes in for a hug.

**

After the speech, Burt and Carole disappear into the crowd with Mr. Schue for endless interviews and schmoozing. All the local public officials who refused to endorse Burt are here, and the Democratic Party people.

As things wind down, their friends gradually depart (Rachel, oddly, left early with her dads, saying she wasn’t feeling well), and after Finn unleashes three massive yawns in the span of five seconds, he goes home to bed and Kurt and Blaine slip upstairs to the suite.

They kiss a bit and then settle down on the couch; the adrenaline has worn off, and everything feels a little blurry and slowed-down. After the brief thrill of hearing Anderson Cooper say his dad’s name during a news recap – and seeing himself on stage, applauding behind his dad, and Blaine was right, the piped shirt really does pop on camera – the commentators have long ago stopped talking about the election. Kurt keeps the TV volume on low as Blaine falls asleep on his lap, letting the sound dissolve into white noise.

He runs his fingers through Blaine’s hair, and Blaine hums softly.

“Are you still awake?” he whispers, and hears only deep breathing in return.

Alone, that ache of fear twinges again in his stomach, reminding him that tomorrow he’ll have to wake up and face his own future. Kurt burrows a little deeper into the corner of the couch and closes his eyes. He makes himself stop and savor the moment, the glow of victory in the warm hotel room, Blaine's head heavy on his lap. He rests his palm on Blaine's chest and tries to match his breathing.

He startles awake when the key card clicks in the door, and Burt slips in, loosening his tie.

“Hey, buddy,” he says. “Did I wake you?”

“Mm. No.” He swipes quickly at the corner of his mouth and sits up straighter, shifting Blaine’s head carefully. “Is everyone gone?”

“Mostly,” Burt says. “Schuester and Carole are taking care of the stragglers.” He nods toward Blaine. “He’s out like a light, huh?”

“I’ll drive him home in a bit.”

“Sure you’re not too tired?”

“I’m fine.”

Burt pulls off his tie and sits down in the armchair next to Kurt. He glances toward the TV; Anderson’s gone, replaced by a perky late-night anchor. “You watching that?” Kurt shakes his head; Burt picks up the remote and switches the TV off. He leans back in the chair, undoing the top button of his shirt. “I want to tell you what the president said to me.”

The president. Kurt smiles, still not over it. “OK.”

“He said congratulations, of course, and said I should be real proud. I guess it’s a big deal getting elected as an independent. That’s what everyone’s saying.”

“It is a big deal, Dad.”

“And he didn’t come out of nowhere — I mean, he was the mayor of Houston before he ran for Congress, and Houston’s a lot bigger than a tire store. But he said he knows what it’s like being a freshman in Congress, and wanted to give me some advice. Hey, you’ll be a freshman, I’ll be a freshman — how d’you like that?”

 _Or I’ll be back here working a register at Kroger_ , Kurt thinks, allowing himself that half-second of thinking about it before stuffing it down. “What did he say?”

“Well, he said it’s intimidating, no matter what you did before getting there. There’s lots of rules and lots of big egos. He said make sure you have good staff. He asked if I had a staff; I told him I had my wife, my 18-year-old son, and his choir director.” Burt chuckles. “They can help me hire people, if I want; I figure there are plenty of good people here in the district who are looking for work, but I guess I’ll need someone who can actually help me read those thousand-page bills.”

Kurt nods.

“And then he asked me about my agenda.” Burt looks at the dark TV screen. “I didn’t really have much of an agenda for my campaign, I guess. I just wanted to stop Sue from getting elected.”

“You had an agenda.”

“Yeah, the arts in schools. And I support that, of course I do. But the way Santos was talking, he was talking about something bigger than that. He said when you’re the new guy, you get the crappiest office, you don’t get more than a few minutes here and there where people will really listen to you. So he said, find those moments and make them count. Talk to the people in your district, talk to the people that matter to you, and figure out what you can do right away that would have the biggest impact on their lives. And that doesn’t require a lot of new funding, because if that’s what you want, good luck with this Congress.

“And I gotta tell you, Kurt, as he was saying that, it wasn’t the arts I was thinking about.”

Kurt’s still enjoying picturing his dad being interviewed on TV, or giving a speech from the House floor on C-Span. He sees Burt standing behind President Santos as Santos signs a bill, Santos handing Burt the pen, shaking his hand.

“There’s something else,” Burt continues. “But I want this to be your call, Kurt. I won’t say anything about this if you don’t want me to.”

Kurt looks up at his dad, and there’s something serious and sad in Burt’s eyes that wasn’t there before.

“D - drunk driving laws?” Kurt says. It comes out in a whisper. They talk about it so little these days.

“No.”

Burt’s still looking at him, serious, and then Burt glances down at Blaine and Kurt knows. “Dad,” he says softly.

“I want to talk about bullying.”

Blaine is still fast asleep, his mouth slightly open. Kurt traces a gentle spiral on Blaine’s scalp, watches him breathe.

“Last year, it killed me that I couldn’t do more to help you. We thought we were doing all we could for you by getting you out of that school. But that just left the real problem alone. The problem is principals and administrators who can’t do anything —”

“Or won’t,” Kurt murmurs.

“Exactly, or won’t do anything to stop kids from killing each other. And it’s not just you.”

“I know.”

“It was hard enough for us to pay for one semester of Dalton. Plenty of folks around here couldn’t even swing that.”

Kurt used to think his dad was a man of few words. Now it’s overwhelming, sometimes, how intensely he cares and how expressive he can be — usually when Kurt is least expecting it. He’s still a little dazed from his nap; he threads his fingers into Blaine’s curls, anchoring himself to this couch and this room and this night.

“So what do you want to do?” he asks his dad.

“I want to tell people what’s going on,” Burt says. “I want to tell everyone what happened to you in that school – what happened to us, as a family. Because it’s happening to kids all over the country, and it is wrong. And when I get a staff, I want to write a bill that gives real penalties for bullying, and makes school boards take it seriously.”

He touches Kurt’s shoulder to get him to look up. “This is your call,” he says. “I know it’s a lot I’m asking of you. I won’t make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“You missed your chance tonight,” Kurt says. “CNN isn’t coming back to Lima anytime soon.”

“It was too soon,” Burt says. “I wouldn’t have made you do that tonight. I hadn’t really thought it through myself.”

Kurt tries to picture it. Speaking on TV, or making a YouTube video. His dad at a podium on the House floor, saying his name.

“I can’t,” he says finally.

“Why not?”

He looks down at Blaine. Blaine, who stood up in front of the whole junior class and asked him to dance. Blaine, who told him it was OK not to wear something outrageous on TV. Blaine, who texted “courage.”

“I want people to know me on my terms,” he says softly. “If I go on TV and talk about all that stuff, I’ll be Kurt Hummel, the bullied gay kid, forever. I want to be famous, but as an artist. Not because of what some Neanderthal kids did to me in small-town Ohio.”

“Don’t you think it could help?”    

Kurt shakes his head. “Those kids who are going through the same thing as me – they’re already going through it. They don’t need to see more victims. They need to see more dads like you.”

Burt smiles. “Not like you to pass up an opportunity to be on television.”

“Just waiting for the right role to come along,” Kurt says airily. “But.” Blaine shifts a bit on the couch, maybe starting to wake up. “You should introduce that bill. And you should tell those kids you’re fighting for them.”

“I will,” Burt says. He reaches over to grasp at Kurt’s arm again. “I will,” he says again, to the TV. And the warm glow of the night is back again, pushing out thoughts of the future (he’ll go to NYADA, and he’ll be famous, and he’ll give devastatingly witty interviews about the awful human beings he went to high school with), and they wake Blaine and find Carole and head home.

**

Two weeks later, the house phone rings while he’s doing homework.

“Kurt! Phone for you!” Carole calls upstairs.

When she hands him the phone, she clears out of the kitchen quickly. He doesn’t understand why — it can’t be private, since Blaine and his friends use his cell — until he answers.

“Kurt. Josh Lyman, White House Chief of Staff.”

Kurt knows who Josh Lyman is. Everyone who’s followed politics in the last decade knows who Josh Lyman is.

“H - hello,” he says. Kurt has no idea how to address the White House Chief of Staff.  “Sir.”

“Congratulations on your win,” Josh says. He sounds just like he does on TV.

“Thank you.”

“Your dad mentioned to the president that you were his campaign manager,” Josh goes on.

“Yes, I was.”

“And the president mentioned it to me. And I happen to know something about managing a campaign, and I thought that was pretty impressive, a high school kid running a successful Congressional campaign. Especially in a district where I need to call in the fucking United States Geological Survey to help the fucking Democratic _Party_ spelunk its way out of its own — Hold on.” Josh’s end of the line goes muffled, but Kurt can hear him call to someone else. “Donna, I am not — I’m talking to the kid. From the Ohio 4th. And if the — Donna, he’s in high school, he’s not a —” Josh’s voice suddenly blares through. “How old are you?”

“Uh, 18,” Kurt stammers.

“He’s 18, for God’s sake, he’s heard the word “fuck” before.”

A woman’s voice comes faintly through. “Tell him I say congratulations!”

Josh gets back on the line. “Donna Moss says congratulations. She doesn’t work in this building anymore, but she likes to pretend she does. Love you too,” he calls, presumably to Donna. “She’s chief of staff to the First Lady, and she likes to tell me when I’m being a jerk. Which is most of the time. Hey, you’re 18, did you vote?” he says, without pausing. “You must have voted.”

“Of course.”

“How about that? Eighteen, voting in your first election, and you get to elect your dad to Congress. So what’s next for you? College?”

His stomach tightens just a bit. NYADA said they’d be notifying finalists sometime in the next few weeks. Neither he nor Rachel has heard anything. “That’s the plan.”

“You going into politics? Going to work for your dad?”

“No, I’m, ah. I’m a performer. I’m hoping to go to school for musical theater.”

“Musical theater, huh? That sounds like fun.”

“It is fun,” Kurt says. “It’s what’s gotten me through high school.”

“I don’t suppose you’re staying in Ohio for college?”

“No,” Kurt says, so abruptly that Josh chuckles. “No. New York. I want to go to New York.”

“Our loss,” Josh says. “They’ve got plenty of Democrats in New York. Not too many in the Ohio 4th.”

“I should tell you, I registered as an independent,” Kurt says. “Like my dad.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Josh says. “But you’re smart and you believe in a lot of the same things we believe in, and that’s more than I can say about a lot of Democrats I have to work with.”

Kurt smiles. “Maybe you should try cursing at them less.”

Josh groans. “You too, huh? Well, if you ever feel like getting back into politics, give me a call, OK? We can always use smart people who know how to win.”

“I will,” Kurt says, still trying to process what’s going on. “Thank you very much.”

“But if you want to work for me, you have to be prepared to use the full range of the English language.”

Kurt laughs. “I understand.”

“Try it now. Say: I just won a fucking Congressional election.”

“I don’t —”

“I’ll say it with you. Come on. Oh, hold on.” He puts his hand over the phone again. “Donna, will you leave it alone? I have a reputation to uphold.” There’s a pause. “Well, I happen to think this part is important, too.” And back to Kurt. “Apparently I’m being an asshole again. Well, I’ll just say it to you: You just won a fucking Congressional election, you’re 18 years old, your dad’s going to do a great job, and you should be proud as hell.”

“I — I am.”

Josh laughs. “All right. Give me a call if you change your mind about the whole musical thing.”

“I will.”

“Good luck, buddy.”

“Thank you,” he says, as the line goes dead.

He clicks the phone off and looks up at the doorway, where Carole and Burt are hovering, giant grins on their faces. Kurt opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get the words out, his dad says, “I swear to you, Kurt, I did not ask him to call. I knew he was going to, but I did not ask him to.”

Kurt nods. Some emotion he can’t quite figure out is swelling up in his throat. “We just won a fucking Congressional election,” he whispers before dissolving into shaking, teary, stomach-aching giggles.

He has to tell Tina; she’s already devouring political blogs on President Santos’ reelection campaign, and she’s going to flip.

He has to tell Blaine.

He should hear from NYADA in the next few weeks. He just turned down an offer to work at the White House.

The future stretches out in front of him, indistinct but alive with possibility.


End file.
